Reign of Chaos
by AquilaTempestas
Summary: Evie supports her brother's plan to remove the Templar presence from London however she begins to question his methods, worrying he's straying too far from the Creed. After all, the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. Retelling of Syndicate.
1. Prologue

Evie supports her brother's plan to remove the Templar presence from London however she begins to question his methods, worrying he's straying too far from the Creed. After all, the road to hell is often paved with good intentions. Retelling of Syndicate.

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 **Prologue**

He curled his fingers into a fist as he drove it into his opponent's jaw. The man staggered backwards, hand resting on his injured chin, too shocked to even speak. Before the man could attempt to find a weapon of his own to defend himself with, he was pushed up against the counter, a steel blade at his vulnerable throat.

"Be gentle, Jacob," a woman said, features concealed by her hood. "We need this man alive."

Jacob loosened his grip on the man's shirt, but didn't remove the blade. "How many gangs are there? Seven? Three? Nine? More than ten?" he demanded.

His victim stared up at him with a defiant gaze, blood trailing down the right side of his mouth. "Why would I tell you?" he spat, pushing aside a loose strand of platinum blond hair away from his right eye. "You think you can be a hero by stopping us? Our leaders maintain the peace. Without us, there would be total chaos in the streets! Is that what you want? Chaos?" The man forced a sardonic laugh.

Jacob punched the man in the face again. The laughter ceased immediately. "There are people around here that aren't even getting paid, while there are others that have mountains of coin. Under Templar control, the difference between the poor and rich has never been greater." He pressed the blade up against the man's throat, but still not deep enough to cut the skin. He wanted to make the man squirm first.

"Steal from the rich and give to the poor. Still makes you a criminal," the man said. "You people claim to live by a set of moral rules yet here you are. I'm sure you've killed more people than I have, Assassin. Maybe you hate us so much because we remind you of the worst parts of yourself," he said, tone laced with distaste.

Jacob didn't waste another second. He drew his arm back as he plunged his hidden blade into the man's chest. A surprised gasp left the man's throat, but there was nothing he could do. Blood seeped through the white cloth he wore as Jacob withdrew his blade. Another man dead, and it was only the second day of the new week.

"Was that really necessary?" a man said from behind. "We could've used him for information."

Henry Green, a family friend, and a member of the fallen British Brotherhood. It was Henry who summoned them here to London to help out with the Templar problem, however he disproved of their methods. His preferred method of solving conflict was to discuss it with the opposing party. It was for that reason alone Evie had invited him to come along – she had hoped to use his diplomacy skills to obtain information from the Templar ally, yet Jacob had other ideas.

Withdrawing the hidden blade, Jacob turned around and shrugged. "He had nothing useful to say," he said, wiping off the blood on his coat. Henry looked to the woman, but she didn't say a word. With a sigh, Jacob added, "No need for the long face, Henry. We'll find someone else more willing to talk. I'm sure someone will give us the locations of the Templars we seek."

"Evie," Henry started, looking towards the woman.

She shrugged. "We will find someone else."

Jacob grinned. "See? Nothing to worry about. Now I'm heading home. See you both later." Pulling back his hood, he walked over to the nearby table, and grabbed his black top hat. When the deed was done, he needed to blend in with the rest of the people as to not draw suspicion to him. No one would suspect a thing.

He was aware that his sister was glaring at him, but he didn't stop to talk to her. He'd listen to her lecture later when he had a chance to clean up after today's events. She was angry – he could tell without even having to look at her – but he'd deal with her later. Right now he wanted to sit back and relax. Without saying another word, he exited the building.

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Evie crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at the entrance of the bar. Seconds earlier, her brother had just walked out without even bothering to offer an explanation. As per usual, she was left behind to clean up his mess. She loved him dearly, but sometimes his actions caused more problems than solved. This was one of those times.

She turned her attention towards the corpse of a bartender now lying in a pool of blood on the floor. The man wasn't a Templar himself, but he did spend an awful amount of time walking down the same routes. She suspected he was a messenger for the Templar leaders, delivering messengers between the various factions. It was unfortunate her brother had killed him, but that's generally how he dealt with problems.

Fortunately, it was night. Midnight to be precise. The local townsfolk were fast asleep, and all the bars were closed in the district, meaning there'd be no stragglers walking around. Finding the Templar supporter had been easy – the man had exited from a nearby bar making him an easy target to disarm. Her brother had made short work of him – a punch in the stomach and a fist to the head, and the man was brought to the ground. Now they were here inside an abandoned bar with nothing but rats to keep them company.

"We'll have to remove the body. This bar might be abandoned but people, especially children, like to snoop around," Henry pointed out, moving to the opposite side of the man, glancing down with disappointment. "Now we'll have to find someone else."

If the man had been her victim she would've released him and tracked him. Unfortunately, her brother's inability to control his anger meant she had to think up of any other plan of finding the hideouts of the Templar leaders. "I'll keep a lookout tomorrow. Help me move the body please," she said, gesturing to the corpse on the floor. Henry was right – despite the place being abandoned, it didn't mean it was safe to hide bodies behind the broken barrels in the shadows.

Henry dropped to his knees and placed his hands beneath the man's arms. Evie grabbed the legs and together, the two Assassins lifted the body up from the floor. "We'll dump the body out the back, and I'll send some of me men to rid the body during the night when there are less people about."

Evie didn't like the idea of leaving a body in the sewers until nightfall, but who explored that area anyway? "All right." They carried the body out through the back door towards the sewer system to dispose of the body. A few rats scurried past along the cobblestones, but they were harmless. Once done, they covered the entrance with some garbage then headed back inside to clean up the remainder of the mess.

"You're going to have to keep an eye on him," Henry said, searching for a brush to scrub the floor with. "Your brother, that is. If this continues, the Templars will be the least of our problems."

He was referring to the police force. Their job was to patrol the streets and ensure the people were safe. So far, the police hadn't been a problem, but things could easily change. She glanced up from the floor. "You and I both know that my brother can't be controlled. He wants nothing more than to run wild on the streets." That made him a liability. Jacob had a knack for finding himself in difficult situations and seemed to thrive on it. Despite being raised as an Assassin, her brother cared little about stealth. In fact, he seemed to care little about the teachings of the brotherhood itself.

"I'll be back shortly. This mess isn't going to clean without water," Henry replied, turning his back to head to explore the kitchen area of the bar.

Evie glanced down at the fallen Templar ally and sighed once more. If only her brother had better self-control then they wouldn't be in this situation. But chaos made him happy, and he was happiest when he was right in the middle of the fight, using nothing else but his fists to gain the upper advantage. He had all the makings of being the perfect Assassin, better than herself in fact, but for whatever reason he simply didn't care. He lived by his own set of rules and guidelines and that made him dangerous.

Henry returned with two scrubbing brushes and a bucket of hot soapy water. "You are the only one he listens to, Evie. Your brother wishes to eliminate the Templar presence here in London." He lowered himself down to the floor and began to scrub away at the blood. Evie picked up the other brush, dunked it into the water and started scrubbing. Fortunately, the blood was still fresh.

"And he has my full support," Evie replied, dunking her brush into the water. Within moments, the water in the bucket had turned a dark red. She tapped the brush on the bucket's rim several times then continued to scrub away at the floor.

"You are but two people trying to take back control from multiple gangs of Templars. We don't even know how many of them there are out there yet," he advised, pausing briefly. She tilted her head to the side, an eyebrow raised. He cleared his throat and continued. "Your father taught you both well, but that alone won't help you win."

Evie scrubbed harder. "We'll find a way to gain the advantage." It would take a bit of time, but all legends started with nothing. All they needed was names of the faces of their enemies and the takeover would commence. "Assassins before our time managed to find a way to overcome the Templar Order – What makes you think we can't achieve the same results?"

"The Assassins failed before, Evie."

"Things are going to be different now. My brother and I are here."

Henry's expression remained neutral. "I wish I shared your optimism, but I don't see how it's possible. The Templar force is far too great and their influence is widespread. Merchants, carriage drivers, and the wealthy districts all support the Templar cause. By taking on the Templars, you are creating civil war."

She detected the bitterness in his tone. Although Henry had been their friend for over a decade now, he was still a mystery to her. He never spoke of his time during the peak years of the British Brotherhood – that topic was avoided at all costs. When someone brought it up, Henry would change the topic. Whatever had happened during that era must've left deep wounds. She didn't question him about it. He'd speak of it when the time was right and she would listen.

"The working class has suffered long enough. Something needs to be done."

He sighed. "I can see that you've made up your mind, and I won't be able to change that. I only ask that you remember the oath you swore when you became part of the Order, Evie. Stay your blade from the flesh of an innocent, hide in plain sight and be one with the crowd, and never compromise the Brotherhood."

She nodded. "I never break my promises, Henry. You have no reason to fear that I will stray from our Order's teachings."

"And your brother? You and I both know he pushes those boundaries. I fear to think what will happen if those boundaries are overstepped."

She paused then nodded again. "I'll keep a watchful eye on him."

There was silence until Henry spoke again. She knew he wasn't convinced, but she also knew when to drop the debate. "You should head home and speak to your brother. I'll clean up the rest of the mess here." She looked at him, an eyebrow raised. "Go on, Evie. I'll be fine. I'll let you know if I have any leads."

She climbed to her feet. "You know where to find me." Henry resumed scrubbing, and Evie headed towards the door, pulling her hood over her head.

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Originally uploaded on archive of our own but then taken down in the same year Syndicate was released. I actually wrote and finished this story just a few weeks out from when the game was released. This story is basically what I would've liked to have seen in the games.


	2. Plans

Another chapter reuploaded. This story was actually done a few weeks before Syndicate was released and it's kinda what I had hoped would happen (but didn't)

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 **Chapter One: Plans**

There were times Jacob regretted living so far out from the main city; yes, he could climb the walls and take shortcuts to get to his destinations much quicker, but you never knew who could be watching you. It was safer to use the transportation system the people of London relied on to cover large distances.

Trains were expensive so Jacob opted to go with the horse carriage system instead. It cost anything between five and ten pounds depending on how much ground you needed to cover. Fortunately, his parents had left him and sister with a reasonable amount of wealth to survive in London though he preferred to earn his own income by winning bar brawls and hosting alley way fights.

Evie disproved of his methods; he was well aware of that fact, but it did nothing to deter him. He never felt more alive and free when in the middle of fight. There were no rules to follow. He could do what he pleased. Evie was so much like their father that it was no surprise she had obtained the rank of a Master Assassin by the age of eighteen. She was the golden child of the siblings whilst he was the black sheep.

Throughout his childhood years, his father had been constantly on his back, forcing him to improve so that one day he too could rise to the top of Brotherhood ranks. Ethan Frye believed that if Jacob became an Assassin it would control his rebellious spirit and turn him into a better person. So far, he had proven wrong. The only thing being an Assassin had taught him was how to handle himself in a fight and win, even if the odds were stacked against him.

Perhaps that's why his father died – perhaps he died of shame because his son had 'failed' him. "Are you just going to stand there all day long or are you going to pay for a ride?" Jacob's thoughts were broken by a hoarse male voice. He was standing before a horse carriage and a man with a moustache giving him a sour look.

Jacob cleared his throat. "Take me to Lambeth."

"That will be five pounds."

He dug a hand into one of the inside pockets of his black trench coat then handed the man the amount required. The carriage rider seemed surprised, but he didn't say anything. He motioned for Jacob to climb on. As soon as Jacob sat down next the driver, rain drops started to fall. _Great,_ he thought bitterly. _A ride in the rain._

"What brings you here to the heart of London?"

Small talk. The popular method of avoiding awkward silences. He was more than happy to play along; it would keep his thoughts from thinking about his father at least. "Visiting friends," he replied.

"Your friends live quite the distance from you."

He nodded. "That's a good thing. Means I don't have to see them too often." Truth was he didn't spend a lot of time with anyone else aside from Henry and Evie. Anyone could be a Templar, and if they knew he was an Assassin, their lives would become a little more complicated than he would like.

The man snorted. "Not much of a people-person then? Can't say I blame you; hard to trust anyone these days. A man's body was found dead last week – did you hear about that?"

Ah yes, that was a Templar called George. Jacob remembered getting into a fist-fight with the man after an interrogation session went poorly. It was George who gave them the location of the messenger, the male he killed last night in the abandoned bar. Jacob shook his head. "Nope. Didn't hear anything about it at all."

"Well, you should be careful out there. The authorities have put out a word there's a criminal on the streets. You don't want to be caught by yourself alone at night, especially in a dark alleyway."

The man paused and focused his attention on his driving, making a sharp right turn into a crowded alley. Scruffy clothes, dirt stains and rubbish on the streets told him this was one of the many poor districts within London. It was also a sign there were Templars within the area ruling with an iron fist.

"A criminal, you say? What do they say this person has done?" Jacob inquired.

"They believe the criminal is male, and that he's efficient with hand-to-hand combat."

He raised a brow. "How do they know?"

"Studying the marks on the body uncovered. No signs of any weapons being used."

Templar George was a new recruit. It only took a couple of seconds to disarm the man of his weapon and snap his neck. "Anything else?" Jacob said, trying to keep his voice steady, but failed to conceal the edge in his tone. His sister was going to be absolutely thrilled to hear of this. Most likely it would lead to another argument in which she accuses him of a 'bull-headed reckless fool'.

The man turned to face him, a dark thick brow raised. "You seem anxious."

"Concerned, that's all. A criminal on the streets? Tell me why I shouldn't be worried."

The man relaxed. "I understand; I am concerned myself, but you needn't worry; more Templars have been called to the area to the patrol the streets. The criminal will be found and will be given the justice he deserves – a quick merciless death."

They turned another corner, this time to the left. This street was less busy than the previous, but still had its fair share of poor. Some were sleeping on the ground with nothing but a dirty rag to keep them warm, whilst others were searching for food on among the rubbish. Templars had stripped these people off basic human needs and wants. Templars had obtained more power whilst hundreds of people were left to suffer. He felt that familiar sensation of hot anger rising from within as he gripped the side of his seat with his right hand, so firmly his fingers and wrist started to hurt.

The man faced him again sizing him up, eyes then resting on the sleeve of his trench coat. His eyes moved along his arm stopping at his left hand. "What's that? A fancy glove?" the man said, gesturing to the gauntlet on his left hand. "Can't say I've seen it sold in the shops around here."

Jacob wasn't surprised. He often caught the locals looking at it with awe. Sometimes they asked him about, and he simply told them it was just a glove to hide an injury. That was enough to make people stop asking questions – some then believed he was disease and maintained a healthy distance. "I fell ill several years ago, and it affected my hand," Jacob lied. "It did some nasty damage to the skin on my left hand, so I had this crafted to hide the scars. Can't walk around with a scarred hand now, can I? What would the locals think?" he added tersely, placing his left arm beneath his right one. Situations like these were always awkward.

The gauntlet was more than just a fancy glove. It was the mark of an Assassin. The gauntlet looked like a simple device, but it was made to kill. On the underside of the gauntlet was the favoured hidden blade and rope launcher. The hidden blade was used assassinations and the rope launcher used to cover large distances with ease. In addition, he carried a few hallucinogenic darts to cripple opponents and turn them against each other, but he preferred not to use them. Why watch two people fight when you could be the one fighting?

Aside from the gauntlet, he carried a few extra weapons as back up. His fists were his primary and favoured method of close combat, but he did carry a revolver and a cane sword to use against those pesky Templars who carried melee weapons of their own. He also had a few throwing knives at his disposal though he made little use of them. Throwing knives from the shadows was Evie's preferred style of combat, and he didn't want to copy her.

The driver fell silent for the first time during the ride. Sudden silence was worrying. Did the man suspect he was the man responsible for the murder of the Templar? Before he could ask questions of his own, they turned around into another street. This street was mostly devoid of life except for one girl with brown pigtails clad in a green dress. She couldn't be any older than a teenager. What was she doing out here all alone?

He averted his gaze and turned back to the driver again. The man was still eyeing the glove. Discomforted, Jacob fidgeted in his seat and cleared his throat. "It's nothing special."

The man frowned. "Hold on a second… I'm sure I've sketches of these gloves before somewhere in a book…" he murmured, as he turned another corner. "What were they called again? They were like some sort of cult."

"I think the word you're looking for is Assassin, lad," Jacob answered. "I wouldn't say they're part of a cult, but they're an uptight bunch of pricks. They fight for freedom yet they're bound to some stupid Creed," he added. It was no secret he had no love for the teachings of the Brotherhood. He didn't quite understand why the Assassins were so intent on following it. His sister, his father, Henry Green… they all took the teachings to heart.

"Assassins…" the man repeated. "You are a learned man?"

He gave a low chuckle. "I suppose you could say that… But I never went to college. I was home-schooled. History was important to my family." Indeed it was. For an hour each day, he was required to read up on the history of infamous Assassins of the past. Altair. Ezio. Connor. Edward. Arno. He supposed his father thought he'd be inspired by their actions and become a better Assassin. Evie enjoyed it. He often caught her head buried in the books of the past for hours. All it did was make his head hurt.

"Do you think these Assassins live here in London?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow. "What makes you think that?"

"There hasn't been a murder like that in years," the man said. "That's all my passengers have been talking about all week long – the murder of the poor innocent man. Why would anyone do such a thing? What possesses one man to kill another?"

"Power. Money. The thrill," Jacob replied. "Times are tough. Desperate times call for risky actions." Not surprising either considering what the standard of living was here. He had seen a few small gangs in the alleys near their home in Lambeth. In fact, he had come to know a few of them personally.

"You're referring to the thugs, aren't you? The police promised to clean the streets, but they haven't done a bloody thing. It's not safe at night, you know – a couple of weeks ago they say a carriage was robbed in Whitechapel by a couple of street thugs." He leaned over to the side and spat over the edge onto the cobblestones below then faced Jacob again.

Jacob furrowed his brows. Speaking ill of the city's most charming residents didn't sit well with him. The so-called 'thugs' were part of his family – he understood their plight, and appreciated their sense of loyalty and respect towards each other. They were labelled as 'criminals' by the police and the wealthy, but Jacob saw them as friends. "I'm new to London. You seem well-informed. What can you tell me about the gangs here?"

"Depends on what type of gang you want information on. We have two types – the good and the bad."

"Tell me more about the 'good' kind."

Colour drained from the man's face. "The Templars, surely you've heard of them? They helped us. They purged many of the streets of thugs. They protect us when the police can't."

So the man was a Templar supporter. No surprises there. He suspected the entire transportation industry was under Templar control which would make a lot of sense. They were the eyes and ears and knew the roads better than anyone else. Drivers probably heard more gossip than the townsfolk did at the taverns. It made the drivers quite the threat. "Do you know who leads the Templars? I'd like to meet him. You see I'm looking for some work."

"Her," the driver corrected. "Her name is Bloody Nora."

He couldn't help it. He chuckled. "Bloody Nora?"

"It's no laughing matter. She's the toughest gang member in London. Men and women tremble at the mention of her name." And apparently, so did this driver. His skin had turned a sickly pale colour. Whoever this Bloody Nora lady was she must be someone intimidating to have that affect on most people. That only made him keen to meet with her. "How can I find her?"

"Bloody Nora will find you when she wants to be found," the man replied. "You don't just organize a meeting with her unless you're important. And I'm sorry, but you're not. Your life is meaningless to her. If you want to meet with her then you have to make yourself known to the public. Only then will she care."

It seemed like the man knew Bloody Nora on a personal level thus confirming his suspicions the transportation industry, especially the carriages, was allied with the Templars. "Then I better make myself known to her then," Jacob replied with a grin then raised a hand. "Stop here," he added, pointing to the sidewalk.

The driver pulled over to the side as requested. "I can stop at your place."

"I'd rather you didn't. No offense, but I'd prefer to walk," Jacob replied, rising to his feet. If the man was close to Bloody Nora, then he didn't want the driver coming anywhere close to his place of residence. Templars already had enough spies patrolling the streets. He didn't want to add his house to that list. He paid the man his gold and jumped over the edge. "I'm sure I'll see you again… What was your name?"

"Mercutio."

"Off with you then. I'm sure you have other places to be."

Mercutio sighed, and mumbled something. He was sure it was an insult of some kind. "Lock the doors at night. Best to be cautious in these dangerous times."

"Will do." He waited until Mercutio prompted his horses to move before he started walking. Evie was probably on the way home. He knew what was to come – a long winded lecture about how he had screwed up again. Sighing to himself, he recycled old excuses in his mind as he headed back towards his place of residence.

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Jacob walked through the front entrance of his house, and made his way up the staircase to the upper level. The place was small, and space was tight, but it served as decent accommodation. It had also been quite cheap to purchase in comparison to the other districts. The downside was that they were quite far out from the city and journeying back and forth cost a fair bit of money. He had suggested stealing a carriage for their own use, but his sister disproved. She was in the room now sitting down at a table, arms crossed over her chest.

 _Still sour then over this morning's events_ , he thought. "What's the matter, sister?" he said, taking the chair opposite to her.

"We don't kill the innocent," Evie said.

"He was connected with the Templars," Jacob explained. "That makes him automatically guilty by association," he added, attempting to inject humour into the conversation. Her features hardened. "Lighten up, sister. It's not as bad as you believe it to be. We lost our lead, but we gained another. I caught a ride home today and the driver told me a Templar by the name of Bloody Nora is in charge of the Templars."

"And you believe what a driver has to say?"

He shrugged. "He's part of it, Evie. Transportation industry. Templars are most likely using them as spies which makes a lot of sense. They know more about the city than town gossips do." He paused for a few moments, waiting for her to speak, but she remained silent. He continued. "Maybe we should visit the Seven Bells. We might hear something there. Pretty sure Mercutio knows more than what he was letting on."

"That would be good. Henry's invited us there so we can discuss a plausible strategy to defeat the Templars."

"Henry wanting to talk strategy? Why, I didn't think he was too keen on the idea of taking London back from the Templars," Jacob replied curtly.

"He used to be part of the Brotherhood, Jacob. Show him some respect."

He sighed. "I'm just saying he's not interested in removing them by force. That's the only option we have because diplomacy isn't going to change anything." He sat down across from her and placed a fist on the table. "This is gang politics, Evie. They're only going to respond with force. Remove the leaders and the followers will lose morale and disband."

She brought a hand to her chin, resting her elbow on the table, emerald eyes locked on his face. Curious eyes, full of questions no doubt. "A two person gang isn't much of a threat."

"We need more firepower. We recruit our own members."

She raised a brow, disbelief on her face. "You want to start your own gang by picking people off the streets? They'll need to know how to fight. They need to be convinced we can give them what they want – a decent life."

A smile spread across his face. "Then we agree – we fight fire with fire and form our own gang. I've even got a name for them – the Rooks." He started to rise from his chair believing the conversation to be over, but his sister motioned for him to remain seated. "What?"

Her stern look remained. "But even with an army at our disposal, a direct conflict with the Templar gangs will only end in disaster. We can't bring open warfare to the streets of London nor can we risk capturing the attention of the police – we'll take them out one by one the way our father taught us."

Scout the area first, find the target to assassinate in the safety of the shadows then move onto the next target. It was the safe way. The smart method so to speak. He could see the benefits of stealth, but that was boring and too restrictive for him. He was the type of person who would rather take the fun exciting way out – clear out the entire area then walk out the front door.

Jacob rolled his eyes. "You've never witnessed a street alley fight between rival gangs. Sneaking around isn't an option in this situation. We'll be taken for cowards, and cowards aren't respected. Without respect, we'll have no power, and we'll need all the power we can get if we have any hope of winning this war."

"You can't always rely on physical strength to obtain victory. We need to develop strategies and plan accordingly in advance. Co-ordinate our attacks. Understand our enemies and their movements. Basic stuff," Evie countered.

"I'll leave the sneaking and spying up to you then, but I'll lead our people," he said, leaning back in his chair. "No offense, but I'm the only one who can. You said it yourself – I know the street life. You don't. Leave the recruitment and actual fighting part to me, and we have ourselves a deal."

She was silent again. He could see her mind at work. She was probably thinking of a few different strategies as they spoke. Typical Evie. Always had to be prepared before walking into something. She was too cautious for her own good. She hadn't yet realized sometimes you had to be spontaneous. Evie tilted her head to the side, giving him one of her calculating looks, then said, "Just don't break your oaths and we'll have no trouble."

The oath she referred to was the one he had sworn when he joined the Brotherhood. Of course she would have to bring that up. His sister was always the one who followed all the rules and took her role seriously. The level-headed one. The responsible sibling. The mature sister. The favourite sibling. The perfect Assassin. He forced the thoughts aside before he started thinking of his father again. "I swear, I'll be good."

"Then we'll pay this bar a visit." She rose up from her chair swiftly, turned her back and headed towards the door.


	3. Darkened Days to Come

This story was written before Syndicate came out and basically follows a story line I wanted to see

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 **Chapter Two: Darkened Days to Come**

Mercutio parked his carriage before the turn at the end of the street and climbed down onto the pavement below. Turning to his right, he spotted two males dressed in tattered clothes standing nearby, lips pressed into a thin line. They acknowledged him with a nod and he responded with one of his own.

To the average citizen, they were just low-class commoners, but he knew what they truly were. They belonged to one of the seven gangs of London and patrolled the Whitechapel district. Disguising themselves as one of the unfortunate drew less suspicion from unwanted eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, Mercutio sauntered towards the two undercover guards, carrying two pouches of coins in both hands.

Every Monday he would visit the Whitechapel Templar base and bring his boss his earnings of the previous week. Bloody Nora would take ninety-five percent of the total, and give him just enough to make it to the following week to continue his payments. In exchange for the currency, he was given food, water and shelter. If he hadn't sworn his allegiance to the Templars, he would've been living in the heart of the slums as well.

The Templars grabbed the money bags off him and escorted him down a dark alleyway. Despite having walked down this path many times, Mercutio couldn't shake off the feeling he was in danger. The streets of London had never been safe, but over the past couple of years, the crime rate had increased significantly. The increase in the crime rate caught the attention of Templars who decided their presence was needed to control the chaos.

There were seven Templar leaders; one leader for each of the seven districts. What started off as a means for controlling the chaos turned into an opportunity to make a lot of money by exploiting the people. Those who were already poor became poorer whilst the rich, the Templars and their allies, became even richer. Despite the unfairness of the entire situation, there was no one neither brave nor smart enough to rally against the Templars and overthrow them. The only option was to form an alliance with the Templars if you wanted survive.

"Bloody Nora awaits you in the courtyard," the first of the Templar guards said. Mercutio didn't know their names nor bothered to ask. The Templars weren't exactly kind people to those outside their order though he suspected Bloody Nora's influence had rubbed off on them a bit.

Mercutio nodded, knowing it was best not to speak. He followed the Templars towards the courtyard bypassing a few more open alleyways, thankful they were no thieves around. The thieves never dared to attack whilst there were Templars about, but they were known to follow people for a short distance then make a robbery attempt. Fortunately, there were never any reported deaths, but it was still a nerve-wrecking experience walking around alone.

They continued walking past a few dull and beaten down buildings until they reach the courtyard. In the centre of the courtyard was a ring of pebbles around a single plane tree. Standing beneath it, was Bloody Nora herself, dressed in her usual navy blue coat. The Templar insignia, a red cross, was clearly displayed on the right lapel of her coat.

"You are late, Mercutio," the woman said, raising her right hand to reveal a revolver. "I was about to send a search party for you. I trust you have brought our payment?" she added, turning her head to the left to face him, her dark eyes as cold as ice.

Mercutio nodded. "Y-yes madam," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.

She walked forward and stopped a few inches in front of him, her cold and calculating gaze never leaving his face. "Excellent. Hand it over." Mercutio's escorts handed the pouches of money over to their leader. She jingled the two bags in the air testing their weight. "Lighter than last weeks. Do I have to fire you and recruit someone else who can meet the minimum each week? Well?"

He cleared his throat. "I-I will raise the prices."

She smiled. "Good. Charge people an extra five pounds. If anyone complains, give them this permit." Placing her gun back into its holster on the right side of her hip, the woman reached into her pocket pulling out a piece of parchment. She handed it over to him.

Mercutio took it and unfolded it. The words were written in ink and gave him the power to raise the prices of transportation as he saw fitting. Below the ink was the Templar insignia to make it official. The symbol was well-recognized here – people knew not to disobey or there would be trouble. He folded it up and put it in his pocket.

"Th-thank you." Mercutio cursed himself for his inability to speak properly, but Bloody Nora was a vicious woman. She had little tolerance for failures. Those who had failed were removed from their service and sentenced to live in the slums. Many former workers were made examples of and left crippled so they were no longer a threat to the Templar Order.

"Have you any news to report then? Perhaps you can make up for being short this week with important information about the murderer of our men. Have you seen any suspicious people around? Perhaps heard anything down at the Seven Bells bar?" she demanded, studying his features intently.

His thoughts focused on the man he had met late yesterday afternoon, the one with the gloved hand. When asked about it, his passenger simply stated it was to hide an injury, but Mercutio wasn't so sure. Whitechapel wasn't known for its wealth – people here didn't have the money to purchase gloves. Injuries to the hands were covered with scrap pieces of material instead.

He also wore a black trench coat which he found suspicious. Again, people living in this area were poor. Even simple rags were hard to come by let alone a trench coat and a top hat. He also seemed a little too evasive with some of his responses, in particular the ones relating to the murder of George. It was almost as if he had been trying too hard to pretend he knew nothing of the incident.

Mercutio took in another deep breath and tried to calm his nerves. What if the man was the criminal behind the murder of George? What if he was one of the feared Assassins he had heard much about during tavern gossip? He may not hold the Templars in high-regard, but they were his source of security and income. Their laws might be cruel, but at least the streets were much safer than they once were.

"I met a young adult male yesterday," Mercutio said, hoping he wasn't making a mistake. If the man wasn't what he suspected, then Bloody Nora would have him flogged for wasting her time and resources. "He seems quite wealthy," he added. "I've never seen folks around here wearing gloves before in all my years of life."

Bloody Nora raised an eyebrow. "A glove you say? What did it look like?"

"He wore it on his left hand only. Black it was. I remember hearing gossip about the Assassins of the British Brotherhood who wore gloves as well down at the Seven Bells bar in Central London," Mercutio added. "He said he wanted to meet with you."

The Templar leader glanced down at her revolver. "An Assassin… here in London…" she murmured. She pulled her finger on the trigger, but fortunately it wasn't loaded. "Would explain the deaths of my men."

"I have reason to believe he's the murderer."

Bloody Nora chuckled. "Then we'll lure him out into the open."

Mercutio frowned. "Isn't that dangerous? If he's an Assassin then they've come here to fight you." He had heard many stories about the legendary deeds of Assassins. Names such as Altair, Ezio and Connor were mentioned frequently in the tales and rumours though he couldn't tell if they were exaggerated or not. In the tales shared at the tavern, men claimed the Assassin's were masters of stealth, and would attack without warning. The victims in most cases never even had a chance to defend themselves.

"I relish the challenge, Mercutio, haven't you learned anything yet?" she replied, heaving a sigh. "I'm not going to start anything until this Assassin makes the first move. We don't want the good people of London to fear us, do we? If this Assassin wants to start a war then we'll happily accommodate his wish," she added, pushing a strand of loose hair away from her right eye behind her ear.

"What should I do?"

She moved forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You continue looking out for information and keeping an eye on things," she said, digging a hand into one of the pouches. She grabbed a few coins then handed the money pouch back to Mercutio. "Take a few extra pounds for your efforts, Mercutio. You have done well. Return to your work. I will see you at the same time next Monday." Mercutio helped himself to a few extra coins, grateful for the reward. It wasn't often allies of the Templars were praised.

He nodded. "Thank you, madam." He bowed then turned his back and headed towards his carriage, escorted by the Templar guards.

.

Finding a carriage willing to take them to Central London early in the morning was proving to be more difficult than he had thought. Normally, he travelled during the middle of the day since he liked to sleep in, but Evie insisted they leave early. They were now standing outside on the street in the dark since the sun had yet not risen.

"This is ridiculous," Jacob muttered.

"We should be prepared for anything. The Seven Bells is the most popular bar in the city – Templars will be great in number, and I wouldn't be surprised if there will be a few stationed there tonight. There'll probably be more than usual patrolling the area thanks to your actions. We'll need to study the area – know the best escape routes rather than leaving it the last moment," she explained. Evie had the entire thing planned out already. He was just there to do all the talking.

"Just stick to the shadows and don't reveal yourself." Evie didn't reply. She turned her head away from him, glancing to their right, searching for a carriage to arrive. There were none present. "If we start walking now, we'll get there by nightfall," he added as an afterthought.

She raised a hand. "Do you hear that?"

He stopped talking and listened carefully. Concentrate and your senses will pick up on things the average person ignores. It was one of the teachings he remembered his father giving. He called it 'Eagle Vision', a sixth sense all humans possessed. Though everyone could harness the sense, many people did not know it existed or only learned to use it in their later years of life. Only those who were born with the gift, known as the naturally gifted, were able to use it to its full potential.

Jacob preferred not to use it when possible as he felt it made things way too easy. Being able to see who his targets were from a distance wasn't his idea of an enjoyable fight. What fun was there when the victim had already lost before the fight had even begun?

"There's a carriage approaching," Evie said.

He heard it too. It was coming from the right. "I see it." The carriage was approaching at a slow pace. As the carriage drew closer, the rider's features became clearly visible to him. It took him a few seconds to recognize it was the same man from yesterday, the one who had given him the name Bloody Nora.

Mercutio didn't seem surprised to see him. "You need a ride again?"

He nodded. "To Central London."

"Visiting family and friends?"

He nodded once more. "Yes."

"The trip to Central London will cost you ten pounds."

An extra five pounds? He narrowed his eyes. "It cost me five for the same trip yesterday."

"You can pay the price or you can walk to Central London," the driver replied in a bored tone, as if he had heard this debate many times before. He reached down into a pocket and pulled out a piece of parchment. "I have received a permit from the authorities in this district, granting me the power to raise the price of transportation costs."

He held it out and Jacob and snatched it off him. Unfurling the parchment, he read the words on it. The man spoke true. He had been granted the right to charge at the approval of the Templar Order who obviously had the power here. Did all the drivers in the region work for the Templars? It would make sense if they did. What better way to learn all the ins and outs of London from the transportation service?

"We'll gladly pay the required cost," Evie said, reaching down into her coat to pull out a pouch of pounds. She opened it up, counted the required amount then handed a few pounds over to the man. He gave her a hard stare then nodded, motioning for them both to climb on board. "Please, take us to Central London."

"Of course." The driver pulled on the reigns, prompting the horses to move forward. He didn't make an attempt to start a conversation until they reached the end of the street. "I hope I don't sound like I'm prying, but would you mind telling me who you are? You already know me as Mercutio, and I've lived in this city for twenty years now."

Jacob didn't reply. He was still annoyed over the price increase and how his sister was happy enough to pay for it. At least it hadn't been his earnings – it had taken three street victories to earn fifteen pounds. Still, it was a big price to pay and money was hard to come by.

"I'm Jennifer, and this is my brother, George."

Jacob snorted. How original using false names. He supposed it would make it a little harder to track them down should people start asking questions, but George? He glowered at his sister as if to say, 'really?'

Silence fell. The only source of noise came from the horses' hooves as they trotted along another deserted street. Horse droppings littered the street, making it obvious it was a popular route for drivers to take. The poor probably spend their days washing the road and removing wastage for little coin, whilst the rich were able to enjoy the finest things life had to offer.

He spotted a few police officers on the opposite side of the street, milling around in front of a shop. Each man was dressed in black uniform and wore a matching black helmet atop their heads. The Metropolitan Police of London, servants of justice, or so they liked to assume. The truth was these men didn't care for the people – the only cared about their pay check at the end of week. "Police," Jacob said.

"They won't bother us," Mercutio said. "We're not criminals so we have nothing to worry about," he added, turning around the corner into another street. Unlike the former streets, this one was occupied. Mercutio seemed surprised – Jacob noted how his fingers tightened around the reins of the horses. "Thugs do not normally venture this close…" he murmured.

Up ahead, Jacob spotted a group of five men leaning up against a wall, each bearing a symbol that marked them as part of a gang of some sort. It was of a plain white 'X', though it meant little to him. These men were dressed in simple garments – two of the men were even lacking shirts – suggesting that a group of poor men had come together in hopes they'd find better success working as a team.

"We must turn back and warn the authorities of their presence," Mercutio said, preparing to turn his horses around.

Jacob shook his head. "No. They'll take you for a coward if you run. They've seen our faces - they'll remember to deal with us another day. Running isn't an option. We deal with them now." It had been a couple of days since his last encounter with a gang. In his eyes, they were not criminals. They were just people hard done by the system the Templars had put in place.

Evie grabbed his left arm. "We have other matters to attend to, George."

He knew that look all too well - that one where she looked directly into his eyes and held his gaze until he looked away and he always surrendered. Drawing in a deep breath, he sighed and said, "Fine." He turned to Mercutio. "Well, you heard her. Turn these horses around and take us to the Seven Bells."

"Of course."

.


	4. Climb the Mountain

Thanks to a guest for reviewing previous chapter

 **.**

 **Chapter Three: Climb the Mountain**

The moment she stepped foot through the doors of the Seven Bells, she regretted it. The place was big enough with two floors, but the stench of the alcohol was enough to make her stomach churn. Alcohol wasn't something she had acquired a taste for unlike her brother who deemed it a necessity. She walked through the entrance and kept her head low preferring not to make eye contact with any of the locals. The goal was to get a taste of the place then explore the environment outside.

But first, she was going to talk to the bartender while she waited for her brother. He had earned the attentions of some women, and was currently chatting with them both. In a few minutes, he'd join up with her but for now she was on her own. She walked past a couple of tables ignoring the looks she was receiving.

There was only one person carrying out the waitress duties – a young girl with brown pigtails wearing a green dress. She was walking back and forth between the counter and tables bringing out beer to the patrons. Evie raised a brow – the girl seemed a little too young to be working in a place like this, but she supposed it was better than being out on the streets. Perhaps this was a family business.

The owner was obviously the bartender. She spotted a middle-aged man with thin short light brown hair busy searching through the bottles on the shelves behind the counter. The bottles were lined up on a fancy ornate brown shelf, arranged in a way that made it easy to tell which one was which. Above each section was a label. The labels read as: Bonders of Old, High-Class Whiskies, and Direct Imports. On either side of the shelves was a trio of barrels most likely placed there for atmospheric reasons. The counter itself was a mahogany brown with decorated edges coupled with a four red pub chairs without spindles.

"Evie?"

Evie was about to reach the counter when she heard her voice. Turning around, she was surprised to see Henry clad in his usual colourful robes, holding a mug of ale in his right hand. "Henry," she said, acknowledging his presence with a nod. "I didn't know you liked to drink?"

"You are correct – I don't, but we need to blend in with the environment." He gestured towards an empty table in the far eastern corner of the dining area. "Come, let us sit." Evie followed him towards the table and took the seat on the right. He leaned forward. "Where is your brother?"

"He's outside talking to some women."

"Prostitutes, then."

"Hm?"

"They usually hang around taverns because it's the easiest way to pick up men and earn some money," Henry explained. "They work for the Templars, Evie. They're spies. Sleep with willing men. Take their money after getting information. How else do you think the Templars became so powerful?"

More enemies, and what a wonderful disguise it was. Undercover Templars posing as prostitutes. No one would suspect a thing, but she knew her brother would resist. For one, he would never pay to share a bed with someone. "He'll be with us shortly. What information do you have?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing – did you speak with your brother about dealing with the Templars?"

She nodded. "Yes, and we have a plan."

"I'm not going to like it, am I?" The disdain was all too evident in his tone.

"I'll let my brother explain. Better it comes from him than from me." Henry brought the rim of the mug to his lips then took a sip before putting it back down. How had he convinced the bartender to give him water anyway, and how much had it cost? Evie glanced over her shoulder and looked towards the entrance. She was about to stand up from her seat and head outside to drag her brother in, but he stepped through the doorway a few moments later. He caught their eye and wandered over.

"Prostitutes in broad daylight?" he said, planting himself down besides Evie. "Templars certainly have a bizarre sense of humour. Taking money off the weak and using that to strengthen their fortress here. What do you think their end game is? Are they hoping to impress the Queen?" he said heatedly, obviously annoyed at the recent event.

"They're spies, brother. I have to give the Templars credit – they've done well building up a network," Evie said.

"And we have to tear it down," he replied curtly. "There is no time to waste. We start building up a gang of our own and we take the fight to the Templars in the alleys. We'll invade their boroughs, kill their leaders, and convert their followers to our cause by whatever means necessary."

Henry took a drink from his mug again then cleared his throat. "You want to start a gang of your own? How is that going to make things better? You'll start a war and there will be causalities."

Evie leaned forward, both elbows resting on the table. "We'll be careful. We won't draw attention from unwanted eyes. We'll plan ahead and take appropriate measures to ensure we don't make the same mistake the Assassins of the British Brotherhood made." That meant no making treaties with the Templars and hoping they'd eventually leave to maintain the peace.

"Forming your own gang and using them to control the city… Doesn't this sound all too familiar to what the Templars are doing?" Henry replied, shifting his eyes between the twins, an expression of disbelief on his features.

"What else do you suggest then? I see no other alternative. The Templars are large in number; the Brotherhood no longer has any power here in London. We have to make do with the resources that we have," Evie debated. "You were a member of the Brotherhood once, Henry. Surely, you can understand our plight. We can't allow the Templars to continue to grow in power."

Jacob clapped his sister on the back and grinned. "Fighting words, Evie." His expression then turned serious. "As I told my sister earlier, this is a case of gang politics. One party will dominate the other and have control over the people. At the moment, the Templars have that control. They have their spies who feed them information. They have enough people to make them a force to be reckoned with. Now in a fight, only one person emerges victorious, and the winner is seen as the strong one. The leader. That's how gangs grow in power. People want to be on the winning side."

"That might be true to an extent, but this is not a back alley brawl," Henry retorted. "You can't just expect to charge into this fight and expect to win. There is more at stake here – look at the bigger picture."

"What I see is suffering," Jacob rasped, fist resting on the table. "For years the working class have suffered at the hands of the Templars. They're underpaid, they work until their bodies break and they live in shitholes where no one gives a damn. Even children are forced to work just so they can survive. Now you tell me – is this not worth fighting for or are you happy enough to sit back while the world around you burns to the ground?"

Henry looked to Evie, as if waiting for her to provide him with an answer. She shrugged. "What my brother is trying to say is that we are fighting for the greater good, Henry," Evie intervened, before her brother could debate his point further. Bringing up the past would only add to the tension and she didn't want that. If they were to succeed, both her brother and Henry would have to agree. "You'd be a welcome addition to the gang. The voice of reason. No one knows us better than you You don't have to fight, but you can still help us succeed. " It would also be nice talking to someone else trained in the ways of the Assassin who actually followed the three tenants as seriously as she did.

Henry drew in a deep breath then sighed. "All right. I'll help, but don't expect me to carry out any of the dirty work. I'm here to look after both of you, not take part in any fights. I've had enough of that to last a lifetime."

"Great. Now that's solved, we should worry about the next step – accommodation. We'll need a new place to call home," Jacob started. "Any ideas?"

"The Seven Bells has beds to spare," Henry said. "In fact, this place used to be the headquarters of the British Assassins a decade ago before the Templars took control. We'd have to talk to the bartender and convince him we can be trusted and won't bring in any trouble. There's also a girl I think you should talk with." He averted his gaze.

Evie turned her head and noticed he was glancing in the direction of the serving girl. The girl was still looking in their direction. "Do you know her?"

"Don't let her innocent looks fool you into thinking she's clueless – she's a little rapscallion, but she's knowledgeable about many things… including Templars," Henry replied, pulling his gaze away from the girl. "Her name is Clara, and I think it would be worth talking with her to obtain some information on our enemies."

Evie looked away, her brows knotted in confusion. "She's a child."

"A cunning child and a thief." Jacob snorted.

Whatever activities the girl liked to get up to in her spare time was of no concern to Evie. Despite being knowledgeable about Templar activities, questioning a child about such things seemed strange. Not that it would be too difficult – her brother might be a few minutes younger than herself, but often it felt like she was several years older. Sometimes her brother had to be treated like a child to get him to do the right thing. Reward him for his efforts and scold him when he did wrong.

"We'll order something. That'll give us a few seconds to talk with her at least and see what she knows."

"I'm going to find Clara," Henry said, rising to his feet. "I'll be back shortly."

"And I'm going to get myself something to drink," Jacob announced, rising from his chair. He moved towards the counter while Evie remained seated watching her brother. He traded words with the old man behind then pointed a finger towards Evie's direction. A few moments later, he reached the table and sat opposite to her. "Why the sour face? We should be celebrating. Henry has given his approval."

"Do you have to argue with him?"

Jacob shrugged. "He needs to loosen up a little and realize what we're fighting for. Maybe that's why the Brotherhood fell to the Templars – they didn't fight back."

Evie glowered. Most of the time she could tolerate his rants, complaints and tantrums, but sometimes he took it too far. "It wasn't cowardice that led to their loss. They made a mistake – they underestimated the might of the Templar Order, and the Templars used that to their advantage." Or so she assumed. No one knew what happened between the Assassins and the Templars. Templars never spoke of it, and the Assassins, all but Henry, had left.

"Maybe it was those three tenants that held them back. You know, the ones about hiding in plain sight, not compromising the Brotherhood and staying the blade from the innocents? If they truly believed in freedom then they wouldn't bind themselves to such pointless beliefs. How are you going to win a war if you spent your time hiding?"

A challenge. He was testing her to see if she would break. He knew she obeyed the Creed, and he liked to use that against her, but she knew better than to allow herself to be angered by his words. This was Jacob in defensive mode. When he was cornered, he lashed out in the best way he could – insults, fist fights and irrational self-justifications.

Before Evie could offer an explanation, Henry returned with two black jugs of ale in both hands. He laid them down on the table then turned to Jacob. "I managed to find Clara."

"And?"

"I didn't have much time to speak her, but she's agreed to give us some information about the City of London and its districts when she has her lunch break. I had to pay a few pounds, but it will be worth it."

Jacob helped himself to a jug of ale, took a swig then put it back down. Evie didn't even try to stop him – she didn't drink. "Why not just ask the bartender?"

Henry supplied an answer. "A child has no reason to lie, but an adult does. She's agreed to talk with Evie and I in an hour's time before the bar starts its preparations for the night."

"What about me?"

"I ran out of coin."

He frowned. Clara was a smart girl to charge a price for each head. "While you two chat, I'm going to speak with some people. I'll be back within the hour, I promise."

"Speak with whom?"

He smirked. "You'll find in an hour's time, sister." Jacob took another swig of his drink, placed the mug down then stood up.

"Try not to get into any trouble while we're talking to Clara."

"You don't need to worry, Evie. I promised I would be on my best behaviour," he replied with a wink. He finished the remainder of his drink then looked to the second jug of ale. "It would be a shame for it to go to waste…"

"I'm not having any," Evie said.

Henry shook his head. "I don't want it either."

Jacob took the second mug. "Great. More for me then."

Evie watched her brother drown down another mug of ale slightly concerned. Her brother already had a short fuse, but when combined with alcohol, trouble was basically unavoidable. At least he was in good spirits – that lowered the chances of a fight occurring, but what had he meant when he said 'talking to some people'?

She looked around the room again – it seemed even more people had entered the bar. Not a single table was left unfilled. Women and men traded stories, talking in loud voices and laughing about the most random of things, as if they didn't have a care in the world. Coming to the bar for a few hours was a chance to escape from the mundane lifestyle of work and provided a temporary relief to the stress of little pay.

"Those men… they keep looking at us…" she said in a hushed tone, eyes fixed on a pair of adult males in western corner. Both men were holding a mug of ale in a hand, eyes looking in their direction. One man wore a black top hat and a green coat, whilst the other wore a buttoned up white shirt. She noticed there were black markings on his face, though she couldn't decipher what they meant from the distance. "Do you think they suspect?"

Both Jacob and Henry looked then turned away. "I'm not surprised. They're probably drawn to Henry's garbs," Jacob answered, gesturing to Henry's white robes. "Everyone else is wearing drab and dull colours here. No wonder people are looking. Don't think anything of it – if they wanted trouble, it would've happened already."

"We should meet up with Clara now. She'll be waiting for us outside the back of the shop."

Evie nodded, and rose from her chair. "We'll be back shortly."

"I'll be off too then. See you soon. I'm sure we'll have exciting stories to trade."

.

The leader of the gang, a man with shoulder-length shaggy black hair with smudges of dirt on his face, moved forward, fists hanging down at his sides. His expression was hard, his gaze unflinching, as he continued to take confident strides towards him. Jacob remained in place, arms crossed, shoulders pinned back, waiting for the other male to make his move.

"You've come to the wrong part of town, lad," the man said. He spat at the ground then wiped his mouth using the back of his right hand. "But please, feel free to stay. What do you think boys? This one looks like easy pickings."

The four men behind him all nodded. "He can't be too wise if he's come to this part of town on his own," one of the men said. His words were greeted with enthusiastic shouts as the gang members trade high-fives with each other.

Another man, one of the two men lacking a shirt, rubbed his hands together. "He looks like one of those rich pompous bastards from Westminster. Take him on now boss and then we loot what we can before the Templar assholes start their patrols."

There were Templars in the area then, and by the sounds of it, the local gangs were afraid of them. That would make it a lot easier to convince them to join with him if they believed he could help. He waited for the men to cease their chatter before speaking. "One on one? That's hardly a fair fight," Jacob replied. "Let's even up the playing field, shall we?"

The leader snorted. "You're joking with us. I don't take kindly to jokers."

"Five on one... That is, if you think you can manage." The other men started moving forwards, their grins now replaced with scowls.

 _Excellent,_ Jacob thought. _Now we're making progress._ He still remained in place waiting for his opponents to move within striking distance. One on one fights were too easy – three was a warm up, but five was almost a challenge. These men didn't look too tough and he suspected they would surrender pretty quickly once they were realized they were overpowered. All he had to do was prove his worth and he'd have power over them. He took his hat off and laid it down on the floor out of harm's way.

"Come on boys. Let us teach this fool why he should've started running." One by one the men attacked. The first man charged, and threw his weight against him, in an attempt to tackle him to the ground. Jacob stepped to the side, easily evading the blow, and sighed. That was disappointing. The second man let out a roar and charged. This time, Jacob allowed the man to knock him over, just to give the men false hope.

His back made contact with the ground. His attacker immediately climbed on top using his weight to pin him down. Fortunately, the man hadn't pinned his arms down yet allowing him to take control of the battle. His attacker had placed both his hands just below his neck. Jacob covered his attacker's hands with his right hand then raised his left hand, placing it on his opponent's right tricep. He pulled him down with a hard tug.

Jacob raised his knees, and angled them to the left, trapping his opponent's foot. He lifted his backside up from the ground then rolled to the side, swapping positions. Drawing his hand back, he curled his fingers into a fist then drove it forward, knuckles colliding with the jawbone. The man cried out in pain. Jacob rolled off him, climbed to his feet, and felt someone try to grab him. He brought his head forward then back, slamming his skull into his holder's nose. Hands released him immediately.

One man was lying on the ground, whilst the other was clutching his nose, blood streaming down his arms. Three more remained. Earlier on, the men were keen to brawl, but now they looked hesitant, reluctant and afraid even. "Is that all you have? I was expecting more," he taunted, unable to stop himself.

The leader took a cautious step back, opting to take on the defensive position rather than take the offense. The remaining gang members stood back, unsure what course of action to take next. They turned to their leader awaiting orders. No orders were given. Seems the leader was smart enough not to send any more of his men into battle.

Jacob sauntered forward. His rival moved forward and threw a punch. Taking a step forward, Jacob countered with his own punch, striking the man in the forearm. A satisfied yelp of pain left the leader's throat as he staggered backwards, struggling to regain his composure. Jacob punched him again. He toppled over. "I won't hold it against you if you want to surrender."

"Fuck you," the man spat, clutching his arm, as if fearing it would fall off if he didn't. "This is my territory!"

He collected his hat, then walked over to the leader's side and peered down. "You know as well as I do that's not true. You mentioned it earlier about Templars patrolling the area. Something tells me you want to avoid them… You're afraid of what could happen. I'm here to help you."

"Help me?" A dry bitter laugh left his throat. "Why would you care about our plight? You'd be better off killing me. Save the Templars from doing it themselves."

"If I wanted you dead, you would be." He reached an arm out then added, "Stand up."

There was a pause as the leader of the gang contemplated his next move. "...Are you keeping me alive to mock me?"

Jacob sighed. "I have no love for the Templars. To remove them from this city's presence is my goal, but I can't do that alone. The Templars have their spies – I need mine. You seem like a good candidate for the role… What's your name?"

"Charles."

"Come work for me, Charles, and I can promise you a better life. I can pay you good coin."

Charles helped himself up to a sitting position, but still refused to take his hand. "I can help myself up." With a grunt, Charles climbed to his feet, and dusted his clothes off. "Something tells me that I'm making a deal with the Devil here, but it seems we have a common enemy. We have a deal. My men and I submit ourselves to your cause."

There was a still distrust in the man's eyes – fear and uncertainty – but the man had been beaten. Continuing to fight now would only embarrass him further. There was still some work to be done to fully win over the man's trust, but at least he had agreed to help. Jacob took his hand and shook it as a gesture of friendship. "What do you say for a drink at the Seven Bells? There's someone there I'd like you to meet."

"As long as you're paying."

.


	5. Trouble is Never too Far Away

Thanks to anyone who is actually reading this. Thanks to the people who have this on their faves or alerts list. And to my silent readers if there are any... I hope you enjoy this story.

 **.**

 **Chapter Four: Trouble is Never too Far Away**

Jacob wasn't the type of person who could sit still in one place for too long. He was a man of action, and sitting around waiting only made him more restless. Without realizing it, his fingers started drumming on the surface of the table. He wanted to be out there on the streets right now looking for more people to recruit to their noble cause, but he had to wait for Evie and Henry to return from their meeting. The Rooks were currently cleaning themselves up so he was here on his own and bored out of his mind.

He looked around the bar. Every table was filled. The locals had come here to forget about their miserable lives by drowning their sorrows with alcohol. Although it was only midday, some people already looked as if they had one too many drinks. Towards the eastern corner was a group of five men and two women. One of the females, a blonde with wispy long curls, was seated on a man's lap, his arms laced around her waist. The man brought his face in towards her chest, and kissed the spot between her breasts, eliciting a satisfied high-pitched squeal from the blonde woman.

Jacob looked away, annoyed. Relationships were a big mystery to him – he never quite understood why someone would want to sacrifice their freedom to be with someone else. His sister often tried explaining it to him, claiming that the sacrifice of freedom opened the doors to other feelings and experiences, but he found it to be a waste of time.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried before – twice he had tried forming a relationship with a female, but both times had left him feeling quite empty inside. The first girl that caught his interest was a brunette who worked as a waitress at bar. He had been sixteen at the time and had just sworn his oaths to the Brotherhood, a year after his sister had. The waitress had invited him over to her place one night to spend some quality time together.

The time had been cut short thanks to the surprise arrival of her elder brother coming home. Words and insults had been exchanged, punches had been thrown, and a few minutes later, Jacob had knocked out the waitresses' brother. Needless to say, she had not been impressed, and chased him out of the house, swearing she'd call the authorities should he ever talk to her again.

His second failure happened at the age of eighteen. By this point, his sister had claimed the title of Master Assassin shortly before their father's ultimately death. Despite not having had the best relationship with his father, Jacob did mourn his loss, and took it much harder than Evie. He had spent many long hours at the tavern, taking out much of his inner frustrations on unfortunate drunks at the bar. It was then he met a woman called Clarice who claimed to know how he felt.

Again he had found himself in some bedroom with some woman he had only known for less than five hours. She wanted to talk about her feelings and take things slow, but that clashed with his ideas. He wanted action; she didn't. She had thrown a pillow at him, called him a few names (jerk, asshole, bastard to name a few), and Jacob, being the type to never back down when threatened, retorted with a few insults of his own.

From that day on Jacob decided women were just a distraction, and he paid them little attention. He found a fist fight far more satisfying than sex; at least there was some sort of reward to be had in his experience. He drank the remaining contents of his drink then sighed, leaning back in his chair, eyes turning towards the clock. Only thirty minutes had passed since Evie and Henry had left. Recruiting Charles and the gang hadn't taken as long as he had originally assumed. This was going to be a long thirty minutes.

"Could you please stop that?" a man said from the table behind.

Jacob turned around. A man with shaggy brown dark hair with a hooked nose glared at him. "What? This?" He continued drumming his fingers on the table to further agitate this man who apparently didn't like it. The man's scowl deepened. Jacob just smirked. Perhaps this wait wouldn't be so painful after all.

"Yes. That."

"What if I don't want to?" Jacob replied.

"Then I'll crush yer bloody hands," the man snarled.

Jacob snorted. "Somehow I don't think you'll succeed."

"And what makes you believe that?"

The man's companion, a woman with sparkling blue eyes and short black hair, rolled her eyes. "Leave him alone, John. He's obviously one of those of those poor fools from the slums. A disturbed lot they are." She waved a hand in the air as if swatting away a pesky fly. "They're like rabid dogs, I hear."

John nodded. "Yes, this one does look a bit like a wild beast. I say the Seven Bells is just not what it used to be. They're letting in all sorts of people through their doors." He turned up his nose and gave a disgruntled snort. "Come let us leave this place, Belinda. We'll return another day when there's less filth around." He rose from his chair then stretched a hand out to his companion. She took his hand, cast Jacob an annoyed look, and allowed her partner to guide her out of the room.

Oh no, he wasn't having any of that. No one walked away from him, not until he had the last say in the argument. He looked for something to use as a weapon – yelling at the man wouldn't do much. No, he had to make it look dramatic. His eyes landed on his now empty mug. Perfect. Wrapping his fingers around the handle, Jacob lifted it up then threw it at the man's back.

He had a lot of practice at throwing his kukri at moving targets so hitting the man required little effort. As expected, his target turned around, his dark eyes burning like black fire. The mug crashed to the floor, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces. That caught the attention of everyone else in the room. The bar fell silent. All eyes were fixed on the duo.

"You jerk!" the woman screamed. She glared at her partner, eyes blazing. "What are you doing, John! Don't stand up for this nonsense! Teach this scoundrel a lesson!"

"Come on, John, defend your honour," Jacob taunted, unable to stop himself. He stood up and moved away from the table, flexing his fingers, ready to teach this apparent upper-class snob a lesson. Thank goodness Evie was distracted or else she would've dragged him out of the bar by the ear.

John growled, curled his fingers into fists, and strode towards him. "You fucking prick!" With a grunt, he lunged forward.

 _Idiot,_ thought Jacob. No wonder the Templars had such a firm grip on the city. He stepped to the left, and the man stumbled forward, arms flailing. Jacob moved up behind him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt then smashed his head into the side of the table. John slumped to the floor.

"John!" Belinda screamed. Rushing to her partner's side, she dropped down and checked for a pulse. She held her hand against his neck then drew it back, turning her attention up at him. Her face scrunched up, and Jacob knew tears were soon to follow. It was the exact same face Clarice had used when she had thrown a pillow at his head. "You asshole!"

In the corner of his eye, he spotted the two guys watching them earlier on, rise from their chairs. The guy in the green coat looked easy enough to take on, but the guy on the right, the big bald man, looked to be a bit of challenge. That was fine by him. He liked challenges. Made the day so much more eventful and it tested his skills.

"Stop this nonsense at once!"

 _Just when things were about to get interesting,_ Jacob thought sourly. He turned to face the source of the voice and spotted the bartender strolling towards him, lips pressed into a thin line, his thick brows furrowed. But it wasn't the bartender who worried him – he spotted someone far more terrifying. His sister.

"Fuck," he mumbled.

.

"What do you want to know and why should I tell you anything?" Clara said.

They were standing in a small room out the back of the bar. There was single brown table in the centre of the room, placed upon a colourful red carpet. A painting of a battle against armed knights hung above the fire place, and below it, was the words, 'Nothing is true. Everything is permitted'. Evie lifted a brow, but remained silent. They were the maxim of the Creed. Why would a bar have those words?

"Seven Bells is the most popular bar in London," Henry started. "We're new to this city, and we'd like to know more about it. We were told the Seven Bells was the number one place to come for information."

Clara held a hand out. "Give me a pouch of gold ones and I'll tell you what I know." Henry dug a hand into his robes and one out. He looked a reluctant to hand it over, but he knew better than not to. Clara happily snatched it from his hands, hid it beneath her shirt then gestured at the table. "Take a seat."

Henry walked over and pulled out a chair for Evie. She thanked him then took her seat, as Henry sat down in the char next to her. Clara sat on the opposite side, wrapping a finger around one of her pigtails. "What do you know of the Templars?"

"What are your names? I'm Clara."

"Joseph."

"Jennifer."

Clara's eyes moved back and forth between the pair. The corners of her mouth curved upwards into a knowing smirk. "Are you like together? As in, partners, lovers?"

"No," Evie responded tonelessly.

The girl frowned, as if she was disappointed. "Templars come and go. Sometimes they come here to get drunk like everyone else. Some days they come here to ask questions. It's always new faces too. Never see the same Templar twice," she explained. "I listen to them. Sometimes I get close and pickpocket. They're part of a gang called the Blighters."

"The Blighters?" Evie repeated.

"Yeah, that's what I said."

"Can you tell us more about them?"

Clara shrugged. "Only if you tell me what your real names are." Henry and Evie remained silent. The girl sighed. "Oh come on, I know you're not just common citizens." She cast a glance in Henry's direction, eyes focused on his robes.

"What do you think we are?" Henry said.

"Assassins, of course!" Clara exclaimed. "Common people here don't dress up like that, and believe me, I've seen a lot of poor fashion choices." Her face brightened. "It's the only reason I agreed to talk to you both. Your people are the only ones that would understand our plight here. So… can I see it?"

"See what?" Evie remarked.

"The really cool hidden blade, duh! Don't you people like have knives under your sleeves?"

Evie was beginning to think this was a bad idea. The girl might've had a lot of information, but she had a very excitable personality, and seemed more interested in their equipment than the actual situation at hand. "I'm Evie, and this is my friend, Henry. You mentioned the plight here. Can you tell us more about these Blighters?"

"Can you show me your hidden blade?" Evie laid out a hand on the table then pulled the sleeve on her left arm back, revealing her gauntlet. Clara leaned over the table, gawking at the item, as if she was looking down at a large pot of pounds. She reached out a hand and trailed a finger down it. "How does it work? Is there a trigger?"

"Yes," Henry offered. "Curl your middle finger towards the centre of your palm and you'll find the trigger switch.

Evie did exactly as Henry described, and the silver blade thrust forward. Clara jumped back, startled. "Wow, that's so cool! I've always wanted to meet Assassins before! I've read all the history books! Altair, Ezio, Connor… they're so dramatic! I really didn't like that Haytham and Shay though – I mean, they became Templars. Why would you do that?"

"As interesting as it is to reflect on history, would you mind telling us more about these Blighters?" Henry said. "We can't help you if we don't know what we're up against."

"Oh, of course! Well, you see, there's this woman called Bloody Nora. She controls the Blighters. There's seven gangs in each of the districts in London. I currently only know the names of one of her lackeys… don't know the other five yet."

Bloody Nora. Her brother had mentioned the name earlier in the day and was planning on meeting her here tonight. Perhaps this could be a chance to better learn more about the enemy… that is, if her brother didn't reveal his true intentions. If he was convincing enough, Bloody Nora would recruit him and then he'd be shown the location of the heart of the Templar Order here in London, making the mission of wiping them out that much easier.

"Have you seen her?" Evie said.

"Oh, she comes here at least once a week," Clara said. "A real piece of work. Got quite the stomach on her too. She can drown more mugs of ale than my father and he won the Championship last year."

Evie rubbed her chin. "She recruits people here, doesn't she? No one would suspect a thing." Offer employment to poor desperate people, promise them lots of wealth and protection, and use them as her eyes and ears. It made her wonder just how many allies the Templars had. Anyone in this bar right now could be a spy.

"How do you plan to take them down? I mean, I know Assassins are powerful, but you're facing an army. The Blighters are thugs – they're a street gang after all. You won't manage to get very far in your mission if you don't know the game."

For the first time during the conversation, Evie smiled. "I need to introduce you to my twin brother."

"Twin Assassins? Never heard of that before."

Henry leaned forward. "You mentioned you knew one of the names of Bloody Nora's lackeys… What was it?"

"Robert Strain. Uptight fellow. Likes to show off his Templar allegiances as clear as day on his clothing," she said. "You'll know him straight away. He likes to walk with a swagger in his stride. Holds his nose up high and pins his shoulder blades back." She looked to the right then groaned. "I want to talk to you both more, but we're going to have to end it here. We close the bar for an hour to prepare it for the night… That's when it gets real exciting."

"What do you mean?" Evie said.

Clara grinned. "You want to see what happens during a drinking contest? Drop by tonight at seven. Hey, wait, I've got a better idea – you can both sleep here! My father will be overjoyed. I mean, actual Assassins here in London in our bar. You can like protect us from danger."

The girl certainly liked to talk a lot. Just listening to her talk was enough to make her feel tired despite not having actually done anything physically demanding. "That'll be great, thank you," Evie said. "I'll just find my brother and-" Her words were interrupted by a loud noise which sounded much like glass hitting the floor. Either it was caused by a drunk or her brother had something to do with it. She was leaning towards the latter.

"Evie."

"I know, Henry."

Henry didn't say anything else. If her brother had found himself in trouble, then she was going to be the only person who could stop it. It was just fortunate her brother was only in the room next door and not on the other side of town. As she walked through the doors leading back to the main dining area, she heard a man shout.

"Stop this nonsense at once!"

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	6. Clash of Egos

_A/N - So apparently there's some Americanism occurring in the previous chapter. Point it out to me because I miss these things!_

 _Thanks to tgonthefiery for reviewing the previous chapter and the guest as well._

 _Anyway. I probably mentioned this before, but this story is old and was completed just a month from Syndicate's release._

 _._

 **Chapter Five: Clash of Egos**

Needless to say, this was the most exciting thing to happen at Seven Bells in a long time. Most days it was just catching up with friends and drinking yourself until you were passed out on the floor, but an actual fight? Abraham moved away from his table, holding a mug of ale in his left hand, and wandered over towards the newcomer.

"What are you doing?" his friend asked. Abraham gave him the nickname 'Tiny' though he was anything but small. He was at least a good foot taller than everyone in the room, standing at a height just over six foot with shoulders so broad it made everyone else present look small. The man didn't speak much – he preferred to talk with his fists, but when he did decide to use his mouth, his sentences were brief and direct.

"Let's get a closer look at this new friend of ours," Abraham replied, tilting his head towards the young adult male wearing the black trench coat. He was currently standing in the centre of the room, standing just a few inches away from the shattered glass on the wooden floorboards. "Seems like someone we could use."

"You're not thinking of recruiting him, are you?"

A slow smile spread across his face. "Why not? We could use a lad like him."

Tiny grunted, shooting him a disproving look. "I thought I was your right-hand man."

"You are… but I need a left-hand man too. Someone who won't hesitate to get the job done correctly. Someone who isn't afraid to get their hands dirty and I believe this is our guy." He pulled his gaze away from Tiny, turning his attention back towards the newcomer. The crowd was silent. Everyone was so shocked by what was occurring that no one dared to speak.

The bartender, Paul, wasn't impressed. "There will be no fighting in my bar! Leave at once or I'll drag you out myself!" the man threatened.

Their potential ally remained in place, giving Paul a defiant look that could be interpreted as 'try me'. Abraham was surprised Paul hadn't hired any guards to protect the place from troublemakers, but he supposed he hadn't found anyone that fit the mould yet. Troublemakers were rare however – often the worst was simply drunks getting a little too loud. Many of the drunkards fell asleep on the spot; they could only take a couple of steps before falling flat on their faces so fights were a rarity.

Paul took several steps towards the troublemaker then attempted to grab his arm to lead him out of the bar. Their hopeful ally didn't take kindly to being touched, and retaliated, driving a fist into the man's stomach. Paul staggered backwards, hands clutching his injured spot. The simple action caused the entire bar to break out into an uproar.

Fights broke out. It was as if seeing the bartender attacked triggered something animalistic in everyone else. A few mugs sailed through the air, some plates made contact with the walls, and even food was flung. Intoxicated women started throwing verbal insults at other women, and a few of them even engaged in a physical fight.

The man who had caused the fight stood on the sidelines watching the chaos around him before making an exit. Abraham tried to follow him, but the lost the man in the excitable drunken crowd. "Tiny!" he called out, summoning his burly companion. Glancing over his shoulder, he searched for the man, and found him holding back one guy from fighting another. He waved him over. "I need you over here now!"

Tiny released the young adult male and pushed his way through the squabbling crowd. "What now? We lost him."

It was like he just disappeared. One moment he was there, and the next moment he was gone. It was amazing how he had even been able to escape considering how much movement there was happening. Everywhere you turned, there were at least two other people there. "Dammit," he murmured. So much for the chance of approaching the guy, but at least he knew what to look out for.

Abraham ducked just in time to evade a glass thrown at his head. It sailed past and made contact with another man's back. He turned around, laid his eyes on Abraham and charged. Abraham ducked, allowing Tiny to throw a punch. Knuckles met with a nose and seconds later, a body dropped to the floor. "The place is out of control. We should leave," Tiny said.

For once, Abraham didn't disagree. Nobody here would be able to stop the fighting. Eventually, someone would escape and alert the Templars, and the bar would be forced to shut down for a couple of hours whilst the place was cleaned. It could even take a few days for it to be re-opened considering how out of control the situation had become. People were holding bleeding hands to their chests, whilst others now had black bruises under their eyes. He would've been laughing if he wasn't caught right in the middle of it.

Abraham gave Tiny the nod. "Let's move." Standing behind Tiny, Abraham remained close as the taller man cleared a path towards the exit, pushing countless people out of his way. Some people tried to pick a fight, but one glare from Tiny was enough to stop a man dead in his tracks. What only took a few minutes felt like hours, but eventually they reached the exit.

Stepping outside into the cool air was a pleasant change from the smells of alcohol and the sounds of merry laughter and drunken roars. It wouldn't be long before the Templars were alerted of the noise, and he certainly didn't want to be hanging around when they came. Templars could be a particularly nasty group of people when they were bothered.

"Where do you think he went?" Tiny said, searching left and right. "Perhaps he caught a carriage."

Surely, he can't have left the district already? The man had only left a few minutes ago. "Carriages arrive by the hour. There won't be any here until another thirty minutes," Abraham answered, moving a hand to his neck, giving it a rub.

"Maybe he climbed the roof," Tiny said.

Abraham rolled his eyes. Climbed a roof? Yeah, right. "Come on, let's keep looking."

.

Jacob exited the bar whilst the crowd was distracted. Punching the bartender hadn't been planned, but it had worked in his favour, at least for now. The locals would be far too busy fighting with each other to even bother coming after him. However, not all his problems had been solved. There was still the matter of his sister to deal with.

"That was uncalled for," she said.

They were both standing on a rooftop belonging to a building just a block away from the tavern itself. There weren't any carriages around to use so his only option was to go up to escape. "Did you follow me just to give me a lecture?" Jacob retorted, turning around to glower at Evie. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She was giving him the usual, 'I'm very disappointed in you' look. He hated that look.

"One hour, Jacob. _One_ hour."

She always referred to him by his name when she was displeased. His father often did the same as well when he was disappointed. He'd take a seat across from his son, look deep into his eyes, and say, 'I'm very disappointed in you, Jacob.' And that was all he needed to say for the hurt to cut deeper than any knife could. He could never come up with a response to counter those words, and that just left him feeling even more irritated and prone to outbursts of rage.

"Don't give me that look."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

He pointed a finger at her. " _That_ look. That same look of disappointment father had perfected."

Evie glanced upwards at the sky, as if expecting an answer, then turned to face him again. "I have to watch over you, brother."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he snapped, temper rising.

She came forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, and said, "We're family. We're all that we have left. I made a promise to myself that I would always watch over you."

Jerking his shoulder back, he forced a dry bitter laugh and replied, "What? Because you don't trust me? Is this what this is about? You don't have enough faith in me to do the right thing? Is that why you insist on treating me like a child?" He wanted to throw something, but there was nothing around to use that he could break. All he could do was stand here and fume.

"I'm not treating y-"

Defensive, he retaliated. "You're always constantly on my case, lecturing me, scolding me for doing things that go against your precious fucking code," he hissed. "I had that fight under control! If you hadn't of shown up when you did, then I-"

"Calm yourself, brother. This is no time for us to be arguing," Evie replied, as calmly as ever, stopping him mid-sentence. He didn't know how she did that – he could complain, shout, rage and scream for hours and she would never raise her voice to match his. It was like she never felt anger. Either that or she was just so accustomed to his tantrums, she knew better than to fight fire with fire. "Clara has some information that might interest you. The Templars we seek? They're called the Blighters, and they're led by Bloody Nora."

Right. Bloody Nora. Leader of the Templars. Speaking of the Templars there'd probably be a swarm of them coming down to the bar to do a sweep. Fuck. Perhaps starting that fight hadn't been such a great idea after all. Of course, he could ask Evie to talk with the bartender and convince him that he could be trusted. Evie could be very persuasive when it came to cleaning up his messes. "You think Bloody Nora will come," he replied slowly, anger diminishing.

"If she does, I doubt she'd come alone. Your antics would've attracted the local Templars to the bar, and I'm sure they'll want to close the place down for a couple of days whilst they investigate. The police might even involve themselves." She brought a hand to her chin and stroked it, most likely conjuring up another plan of attack in her head. "Templars are probably on their way as we speak. You'll need to stay low until the fuss dies down."

"I can handle a couple of Templars."

"In broad daylight? Do you plan to murder a group of Templars right here in the open streets?"

He hated to admit it, but Evie raised a fair point. They'd have to wait until nightfall when it was much easier to blend in with the darkness of the night and escape. "Then we'll wait until its dark before we attack. Could be a chance for our new recruits to get their hands dirty too."

"New recruits? Do I even want to know? Perhaps not." She paused then sighed. "No. It's much too soon to use your friends. I haven't even met them yet – besides, how do you know they won't turn their back on you?"

Another good point. Evie was always naturally gifted in picking out the flaws in his suggestions. "I can't promise they won't, but once they've had their first taste of victory, they'll be less likely to flee. That's why I suggest bringing them along tonight. Practice run. They could stand guard outside, and I'll deal with the rest."

"You'll deal with the rest," she repeated.

"We need to take that bar back from Templar control. The people in it, like that Clara girl? They're important to our cause. That bar is our new home. If what you say is true, then the Templars will have control of that place… I intend to take it back tonight, with or without you. What's it going to be, Evie?"

"We need to plan ahead. Going in there without some sort of plan will be foolish and will lead to mistakes."

A muscle jerked in his jaw. "And you don't think I have plan," he growled, patience beginning to wear thin.

"If we're going to take this city, it's going to be by my blade."

His mouth twisted wryly. "You're forgetting who runs this operation."

"Correction, _you've_ forgotten. The people will see you as the leader, but _I_ control how this works."

If Evie had been anyone else but his sister, he would've thrown a punch. That normally was enough to show who was boss, but not in these circumstances. It was no surprise Evie had risen to the ranks of a Master Assassin so quickly. She had the skill, the intelligence, and she could be quite assertive when needed. Just like father. He grumbled. "What do we do about Bloody Nora? I think she'll be smart enough to realize not to come tonight. She'll send her lackeys to do it for her."

Evie nodded. "You may be right, but a war isn't won in a day. We'll deal with her after we've regained control of the bar."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Talk to Henry. He'll fill you in with the details of Clara. Head to the left, then take the second street to your right. He'll be waiting for you by medicine shop." She started walking away and stopped at the ledge of the building, then glanced over her shoulder to look at him. "And I mean what I said – we're taking this city by my blade." Before he could get in another word, she climbed down the building, leaving him alone to ponder his next step.

.

Evie's only flaw was that she was far too forgiving. Although she never failed to express her disappointment in his methods, she would always forgive him, no matter how vile the deed. As she had said earlier, they were family, and all they had left was each other. He used that to his advantage. There was no way he was going to sit here and listen to Henry talk while his sister was getting all the action.

His plan? Take out the Templars himself before his sister had a chance. Besides, he felt it was his responsibility this time since he was the one who started the problems at the bar in the first place. He supposed Evie worried that he would make a mess of things again. Other people would find the concern flattering, but he found it more of an annoyance. She forgave, but did not trust him fully.

He climbed down the side of the building and made his way towards the main street. His latest recruits would be arriving soon, and he'd need to give them a brief crash course on how things would be from now on. Fortunately, they were the punctual type. He found his men standing on the corner of the street, just a couple of metres away from the bar's entrance.

"Where have you lads been hiding? Well, doesn't matter, you're here now anyway," Jacob commented. "I've got good news for you – tonight you're going to get paid. You are going to take what's rightfully yours," he added, referring to the coins in the pouches of the Templars.

All but Charles exchanged excited looks. "What's the catch?" Charles said. "You get the biggest pay cut?"

Jacob raised a brow. "No, course not. You'll get first pickings – I'll take what is left."

Charles's expression softened, relieved. "My men also want to know… Do we have a name for our… gang?"

"Yes, the Rooks."

Charles coked his head to the side and nodded. "The Rooks… Fitting name. I like it. So, what's the plan, boss?"

Jacob gestured towards the Seven Bells down the street. "Templars are taking over the bar. We're taking it back tonight. You five will wait outside in hiding – I'll let you know when it's your turn to get in on the action, all right? We have to take this carefully. We can't afford to make any mistakes." He'd prove to his sister that he could get the job done without any problems. Maybe then she'd learn to trust him enough that she wouldn't have to watch over his every move.

"Oh, I thought you should know we found a couple of guys watching you during the fight. We saw them a short time ago," Charles said. "I know their faces and I think you should be cautious."

"I have nothing to fear."

Charles bit his lower lip, and brought his palms together, then brought the tips of fingers to his chin. "They were charged with murder, boss. Abraham and Joseph, but I hear they call him 'Tiny'. They joined a gang then killed a leader and took control themselves. They were released from jail a few months ago, and I don't think you should trust them. What if they want to join us?"

Jacob studied Charles's face. Fear. Concern. He wondered if Charles and his men had crossed paths with this troublesome duo, and that led to their fear. He closed the gap between himself and Charles then placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and looked straight into his eyes. "If we cross paths with them, I'll let them join. I understand your concern, but no one gets the jump on me. I'll make good men out of these lads. What makes you think I can't do the same with them?" He pulled his hand back. "Now come on, let's find ourselves a place to drink."

.


End file.
